The Perfect Sandwich

Thank you, Pizza e Taglio for running out of pizza. That was the best thing that could have happened tonight. Because of the lack of a one euro slice, my friend and I had to go searching for other food. After a few blocks, we decided to turn. And then we saw it, the Festa della Rificolona. Kids were singing terriblly off-key karaoke and across the piazza stood two food stands.

A large chunk of cooked meat drew my attention. I had no idea what it was, but I knew I had to have some of it. The carmelized skin was pulled back showing off-white flesh. This oversized hunk of meat, probably about a foot in diameter turned out to be roast pork, or porchetta. Three euros for a panini, I'll have one. Now.

All the sandwich consisted of was this wonder meat and two slices of bread. It was possibly the most flavorful pork I have ever ever ever had. It was plenty moist, enough to overcome the dry Tuscan bread. The sandwich couldn't have been simpler, but any other addition would just ruin that handheld piece of heaven. I've been in Florence for less than a week now, and I'm sure I've only scratched the surface of its sandwiching abilities. This is my kind of city.

Friday was the last day before Passover. That means no bread. That means no sandwiches. That means right now I probably just ate some cardboard/matzah.
But anyways, the sandwich I enjoyed as my last for what will seem like decades was a fairly standard chicken parmigiana from a pizza place outside of Boston. It wasn't anything special, but it was damn good. The tomato sauce was sweet, the bread crispy, and the chicken moist with a slightly crisp exterior. The cheese was gooey and yummy, finishing off this combination made in heaven.
Sorry for the lacking post, I do not want to think about this for too long lest I lose all control and eat 10 loaves of bread by accident because I'm thinking about it so much.

For work today, I had to head to our lovely Supreme Court, and since an office I was dealing with there decided to close for an hour, I walked a little east to a little piece of heaven under the Manhattan Bridge. I went there in the Fall, and have been itching to get back ever since.

This place is Saigon Banh Mi, officially located at Stall #108 in the East Broadway Mall, but it is really a shopfront on Forsyth near E. Broadway. It is tucked behind buses even sketchier than Fung Wah offering a cheap ride to Philly (I see a cheesesteak-Banh Mi connection here) or to D.C. You have to make it past some very pushy bus operators to get to Saigon Banh Mi, but it is definitely worth it. The shop barely holds five people, with three working behind the counter.

For $3 you can get a heaping sandwich, and for just another $1.50 you can get their iced coffee, which is just too creamy to pass up. The sandwich, though, is not like anything else you have ever had. The BBQ-style pork is sweet and crispy, and the accompanying veggies add a wonderful freshness that helps lighten the pork, "lunch meat" (ham?), and mayo load.

This sandwich thankfully cured me of any ill feelings I had towards the the Supreme Court or any of its employees. After eating it on a bench beside the court, I was ready to file, copy, and do whatever else the day would require of me.

As I'm sure you've figured out by now, I'm a terrible terrible person who can't even make it two weeks navigating through sandwichville. I didn't have a sandwich on Friday. Well, actually I did, it was homemade, pastrami with yellow mustard on 12 Grain sandwich bread, but I assure you it was not the perfect sandwich nor anywhere near it. I will be back on track this upcoming week, I promise.

About six months ago, hearing of the greatness of the Cuban Sandwich, I, for some reason beyond me now, thought it would be a good idea to order one from an Amtrak cafe car. Since then, I have been afraid to delve into the world of the Cuban, fearing dry bread, tasteless meat, and processed cheese.

So I decided today would be the day I would welcome the Cuban back into my world of sandwich love, but this time, it had to be right. So, I did some research on Chowhound, and decided on Havana-Chelsea as the spot to lift my Cuban embargo.

The restaurant is exactly what I expected and wanted. The small shopfront includes a display case of already-assembled sandwiches waiting to be pressed. I go in, sit on a stool, and order a large Cuban Sandwich. The man behind the counter takes one from the display case and tosses it on a flat iron press. I can smell the cheese melting and the bread crisping up. Soon after he delivers it to me, cut in two, sitting in a paper-lined basket.

This sandwich is only for those who can handle a lot of strong, meaty flavors. The copious amounts of roasted pork and just enough thinly-sliced ham easily stand up to the strength of the Swiss cheese and garlic mayo. The lightness of what I assume to be a true Cuban loaf (vs. a heavier Italian or French loaf) complete the sandwich perfectly with an air-filled crisp. In no time at all, my large Cuban Sandwich is gone.

It was by no means the best sandwich I've ever had. At times it's a little much. But at other times, the combination just melts together in my mouth. What made the experience was the setting. While I've never been to Cuba, I imagine this restaurant as a duplicate of such a place in Cuba. The restaurant was full of families, an old man, and a man and two women bickering about the cash register behind the counter. While it has a distinctly foreign feel to it, it is distinctly New York as well.

Upon re-entry to 8th Ave, I am surrounded by Gay Bars, a burger joint (I grab its menu, don't worry), and the busy New York street scene. While it may not have been the perfect sandwich, the experience offered me just what I wanted--an escape, if only for a few bites, to another world.

I really really like sandwiches. Throw anything between two slices of bread, inside a pita, or hell, even wrap it up, and it changes. Sometimes it changes for the better, but other times, the result fails. Meatball sub? Yum. Spaghetti pita? No thanks.

I hereby declare every upcoming Friday (for a while at least), National Aaron Sandwich Day. I will try a new sandwich and write about it--its construction, ingredients, cultural references, and how it makes me feel as a human being. This will be be my quest for the Perfect Sandwich, a sandwich to end all sandwiches, or the Holy Foil-wrapped Grail of life.

I will try to answer any questions we may have as a people about the sandwich, and dispell any rumors. Maybe I'll have a sandwich for breakfast, maybe for dinner. It doesn't have to be lunch. Do you see the kind of amazing intellectual opportunities this study will give us?

Right now, my research will be executed in New York City, so I apologize for calling subs "Heroes." Don't worry though, I will make sure to stand in line, not on line while waiting for my weekly delight.

In a few months time, I will expand my research to outside of the New York City area to the San Francisco Bay Area, then this fall, I will be going to Europe for the sole purpose of sandwich-hunting.

My White Whale Sandwich (ew) is out there somewhere. I will find it.